Signal-Copiahan. (Hazlehurst, Copiah County, Miss.) 1885-1888, 1887-11-03

~&ScSSTTr3 EMr
"sILENcEr' lie THUNDERED.
Good Godr' exclaimed he wlom
she had addressed rs Victor, and who
had first rushed to his assistance, "ht
has bitten the glass through in his pas
sion and l fear some of the crystal bai
lodged in his throat"
In month he coiJd speak. and thsi
was all. He would never sing again
1t was showing outside, and he paced
his room modify. He had never
dreamed of life removed from richie:
and had made no provision for such
position rs that in which he was placed.
The organ. of course, he was still mas
ter of, and to this ho owed the avoid
ancc of absolute poverty. Friends he
had none; they had all deserted him
within week of his mighty loss.
ut was dream" he murmured, un.
consciously quoting from one OF
his favorite songs. IL was blind,
and yet should have been fool to
open my eyes. Oh, God!" he added,
passionatcly, cit is too bitter. l could
have lost her, but my voice--can ! live
and be what l amP No, by heavens
will not! Ishall end tonight. They
shall see that value life less than they
value me in my misery"
He drew n tiny pistol from q dainty
case and handled it carefully. "This
shall set me free, but, tirst-first l will
90 for an instant back to the past and
to Gcncvicvc.
He placed the pistol carefully upon
the case of tho miniature organ, an ex-
quisite instrument, the one relic OF his
life of triumph that Ing had declined to
part with. He seated himself before il
and passed his hands over the keys.
II Is tho good by" that lie plays.
and the old sweet measure for the mo.
mcnt lulls to rest in him all that
is despairing and bitter. The
roJ humana gives out the
air with plaintive sweetness
that brings back NIL the food of memo
rics of things that after tonight ind
forever arc TO be silcnced.
1t is ended. Tho last lingering chord
has died away. Mechanically. with
eyes half-closed and u smile upon his
face, he arises and lifts the pistol from
its resting place. "Ah, true friend. :"
he murmurs, "do your work well, and
l."
The point of the weapon is at his
forehead. But he is gazing into the
mirror over tho mantel-pioce, and with
strange fascination perccivcs the
door open and n slight, yelled woman
enters. A moments hesitation. and
the pistol is hidden in the pocket of his
loose velvet loungng jacket.
He knows her ut Il glance. Stay"
he says softly, raising his hand with a
courtcously dcprecating gesture, al am
thing unworthy of your compassion:
I do not deserve it, and do not seek
it. But sec"-and with Il bound he il
on his knee ut her side. pressing the
hem of her dress to his lips in rever.
cnce.
Tho veil is thrown back and
she speaks: "Guy," she whispers,
"they are dead, my father and sister,
and 1 am alone. They said in the
newspaper that you too were alone
that they had all deserted you. Per-
haps did not come so much to offer
compassion as to seek it And oh,
Guy"--her voice sinking into WON
drous tendcrncss-"it said, in the pa
per that when they thought you were
dying and the doctors came to look
Mt your poor wounded throat-that-
that my little locket with tac lock OF
hair that you asked me for, was upon
your breast, and that when you lay
in that terrible fever yon called and
called and called for Gsneuicuc."
"Can you trust me, crippled. voice.
less rs amp" he asks breatLlessly. "Is
it possiblep"
Most things are possible to woman
who loves. WERE ST. CYRLE.